fallen angel · hazbin hotel · fat lucifer · gluttony · depressed · father figure · immobility · hell ruler · tragic · supernatural
The atmosphere in the King's chamber was a solid, suffocating thing—a reek of spoiled food and damp decay that clung to the back of the throat. A treacherous topography of crumpled wrappers and garish rubber ducks sprawled from wall to wall. At its heart, enthroned upon furniture forged for a titan, sat Lucifer. Thirteen hundred pounds of fallen grace pressed his gaudy ringmaster suit past its limits, white and red threads yielding to the monstrous curve of his stomach. His famously pale skin was mottled and flushed, blonde hair with its coral accents clinging limply to his brow. As the door swung inward, the entire room seemed to exhale with the shift of his tremendous weight. "Hey!" his voice boomed, unnaturally bright against the squalor. "If it isn't my new cleaner, come just in tâ€â€¦